The Truth Against the World Read Online Free Page A

Welsh—
podcasts, Internet radio, anything at all—losing myself in the rhythms, the music of the words. It was better than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, one word repeating itself over and over in my head: cancer . One word my parents never seemed to say.
    â€œWhen is Gee Gee getting home again?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
    â€œThe day after tomorrow,” my mom said. “She’s finished with that clinical trial, but they want to run a few more tests.” Tests. Once liver cancer metastasizes, the prognosis isn’t good; I didn’t need more tests to tell me that. That was why Gee Gee had refused further treatment. That was why there was a hospital bed in our office.
    That was, clearly, why we were going to Wales.
    I’d be surrounded by Welsh people, speaking Welsh for an entire summer. It felt unreal. I’d tried out other popular Celtic stuff: Irish folk dancing, Scottish Highland Games, Elizabethan dress-up at the Renaissance Faire, even steampunk outfits at the Edwardian Ball. You can do anything you want in San Francisco, and I had cardboard boxes full of costumes to prove it. But Wales was better. The minute I heard the language, I knew.
    And in a few short weeks, we’d be there for real. I looked down at my hands, turning my Celtic knot ring from the Ren Faire around and around on my finger. It would be my first time overseas, my first vacation out of the country.
    It might be Gee Gee’s last.

    Born to Wyn, May 15, 12:32 p.m.
    I’ve learned enough Welsh to say “Hello, my name is Olwen Nia Evans and I come from California.” I can also say “Please,” “Thank you,” and “Where are the toilets?” If I can manage to hold a conversation by the time we get there—even a boring one—I’ll be happy.
    Other than visiting Grandma Hazel in Orlando (and her new husband Angus, who served with Grandpa William in Vietnam—a long sad story that actually had a sort-of happy ending!), this will be the far thest I’ve ever traveled. I’ve even started dreaming about the trip.
    It’s a nice change from the other dream, the recurring nightmare.
    I deleted the last line and typed instead, Maybe if I keep listening to Welsh music while I sleep, I’ll learn by osmosis.
    I didn’t talk much about the dream, even though my blog wasn’t really all that public. Judging from the lack of comments, I was pretty sure nobody was reading it. Not even Rae. I tried to tell myself that a minimum of unsolicited advice is a sign of a good listener. If so, my blog was definitely a good listener. A bit less satisfying than talking to a real person, but better than nothing.
    The after-lunch bell rang. I logged out and pushed my chair back from the computer in the library. Rae just kept having more and more student government meetings, leaving me in lunchtime limbo. There were too many days like today, spending my lunch period doing homework or blogging in the library.
    I tried to make it romantic somehow; tried to see myself as a solitary writer, not needing anyone. In the long vintage sundress I was wearing today, at least I looked the part. But it still felt like an act.
    I hitched up my backpack and pushed open the library doors, squinting into the late spring sunlight—pretty, but I preferred our usual gray weather, the sky pearly with soft clouds and the air cool and smelling like the sea. Clearly everyone else disagreed with me. The masses of Geary High School students were a rowdy, happy, shouting mob in jeans and T-shirts, ready for the weekend to start.
    I stood off to one side, feeling very alone.
    Maybe it was a good thing I was going to be gone this summer.

    Just a couple of hours later, I paced back and forth across the living room, all the lights blazing. Being home alone in a converted Victorian that creaked and cracked during a rainstorm was too creepy. Mom and Dad had called to say they were